


Settle Down With Me

by ChibiRHM



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 01:38:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiRHM/pseuds/ChibiRHM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’ve been hooking up for a few months when Alex asks Brendan if he wants them to move in together. More specifically, he waits for Brendan to catch his breath after sex and says, “wanna move in together?” to the hotel duvet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Settle Down With Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for, beta'd by, and in general the fault of Jabberwockingly. Also written because sometimes you need a break to write two young, dumb idiots in twitterpatted like. Title from Ed Sheeran, because why not.

They’ve been hooking up for a few months when Alex asks Brendan if he wants them to move in together. More specifically, he waits for Brendan to catch his breath after sex and says, “wanna move in together?” to the hotel duvet.

“Huh?” Brendan asks. He’s still breathing heavy from the blowjob Alex gave him, he can’t possibly decipher Alex’s mumbling, too.

“I asked if you wanted to move in together,” Alex says angrily, which means he’s more nervous than angry at all. “You probably don’t want to stay with Gorges, and I don’t want to stay with my mom and sister, so.”

Brendan can feel himself starting to grin like an idiot, and it’s really hard to stop, or talk around his smile. “Yeah,” he says, “I mean, that’d be awesome.” He guesses it’s kind of a big step, if they’re not even really dating, but he really, really wants to move in with Alex and he really, really doesn’t want to have some dumb, awkward conversation where they decide to stop hooking up. Besides, being roommates means they’ll probably hook up more, and that’s just good for everyone.

“Awesome,” Alex says, and that’s that.

\- - -

Finding an apartment’s pretty easy - there’s one open two buildings down from where Alex’s mom and sister live. Brendan would give Alex shit for being a Mama’s boy, but Alex pouts and looks a little legitimately angry when he starts, so he leaves that one be. It is a really nice place and he’s not going to say no to easy access to Mrs. Galchenyuk’s cooking. If Brendan could live that close to his parents, he’d probably do it, too.

Alex gets back from his summer in Russia before Brendan’s scheduled to fly in from Vancouver, but when Brendan lets himself into the apartment for the first time, it’s empty except for some boxes, a couch in the living room where Alex is obviously sleeping, a TV, and an XBox.

“You’re a mess without me,” he tells Alex fondly.

“I didn’t want to do anything you wouldn’t like,” Alex grumps. “And I didn’t know what bedroom you wanted, so, whatever.”

“We could play ice golf for it,” Brendan suggests, and Alex’s eyes light up.

“Prepare to get the shitty bedroom,” he says, and then quieter, like he’s trying not to be heard, “I kinda missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Brendan says, because he did, a lot more than he thought he would. He kept pretty busy between catching up with his Vancouver friends and keeping in shape, but yeah, texting isn’t the same as Alex being there, smiling at him with that boyish half-grin. A grainy Skype video doesn’t make Brendan’s heart speed up the way it does when he smells the combination of Old Spice and laundry detergent and clean sweat that means that Alex is standing close enough to kiss. He reaches out and toys with one of the belt loops on Alex’s jeans, and Alex sucks in a surprised little breath.

“I was thinking,” Alex says, voice a little scratchy, “we should probably drop by IKEA today, but like, um, before that.”

Brendan laughs. “You want sex, you gotta actually ask, Chuckie.”

“Fuck you, I do not,” Alex says, and kisses him like he’s determined to prove it, hot and messy and a little angry, biting at Brendan’s lower lip. He’s backing Brendan towards the couch and his hands are sneaking under Brendan’s shirt. Brendan probably shouldn’t be so easy, but he likes how Alex feels pressed against him and how he tastes, and they have a whole apartment to themselves to christen.

\- - -

Alex loses both the first round of ice golf for the master bedroom, then the subsequent round where PK officiates because Alex claims Brendan cheated. He responds by claiming the smaller bedroom in name only and sleeping in Brendan’s bed half the time. Brendan doesn’t object to since it results in way more sex than he was getting last year, and because Alex is a pretty good sleeper - no snoring or drooling or kicking or anything. Alex says he doesn’t really like when Brendan sprawls and throws an arm or leg over him, but he’d go back to his own bed if it bothered him that much. Sometimes Brendan wakes up to find Alex’s head bowed closer to his or resting on his shoulder, like he only knows how to ask for touch in his sleep.

They didn’t really sleep together before they lived together, they’d mostly hook up and go to their own beds. They still do on the road, because hotel beds are small and guys drop in unannounced, but Brendan likes this new addition to their arrangement, or whatever it is. He’s always been tactile, and he likes being close to Alex, hooking their ankles together or kissing Alex’s shoulder, and he likes how Alex huffs a little before letting him. He likes that there’s the apartment, and then there’s an even smaller space, a space that’s just for the two of them to have in secret.

\- - -

Anna calls their apartment “the dorm” or “the boy-cave” whenever she comes over, which is a lot. Sometimes, Brendan thinks she comes over just to give Alex shit, but she’s always really nice to him, and she’s pretty, so he’s sort of okay with it.

“Is there anything in here not from IKEA?” She asks, hands on her hips.

“Um, why would we go anywhere but IKEA?” Alex asks, not looking up from his PSP.

“In case you wanted to bring a girl back here, maybe?” Anna says, and Brendan purposefully busies himself making a bowl of cereal so she can’t see his face, even though Alex smirks at him pointedly. “This isn’t the apartment of a hot young hockey player, it’s the apartment of, like, a homeless squatter.”

So in deference to Anna, or maybe just because Alex wants to prove her wrong, they put up their framed first goal pucks on either side of the mantle, which is a lot harder than it sounds. Brendan is a hockey player, not a handyman, and Alex is equally as useless. The level is confusing and the stud finder doubly so, so Brendan’s pretty sure they come out crooked, but he gestures proudly when Anna comes over next time and goes, “look, we decorated!”

Anna pauses, mid-sip of her Starbucks, and then slowly takes off her sunglasses to fix him with a fond, pitying look. “Oh, sweetie,” she says. “It’s a good thing girls find the hapless thing so cute, or you’d never get laid.”

Brendan wants to protest that he’s not hapless, that he hung these up without any injury, and that Alex likes him just fine so getting laid isn’t a problem, but instead he grins in a way that he knows makes him look extra-hapless and goes, “Yeah, probably a good thing.”

\- - -

It takes a surprisingly long time for PK to barge into their apartment unannounced. Prusty did it the first week they lived together with an apologetic Maripier in tow before he dragged them both out to dinner. PK takes a month or so, buzzing in unannounced and going “What up, I’ve got a six pack and you’ve got a big screen with Hockey Night in Canada.”

Alex groans and gets off the couch where he was using Brendan as a body pillow, stomping over to the buzzer. “Didn’t your mother teach you to call first?” He asks, and Brendan hears PK’s staticky laughter.

“I’ll pay for takeout,” he offers, and Alex rolls his eyes, but he’s a cheap bastard, so he lets PK in.

PK declares their apartment “sweet” and tells them about a new Pan-Asian place that just opened up that delivers an amazing pad thai, and the Canucks are the featured game, so it’s a pretty great night, overall. But something feels off, and Brendan can’t name what it is until the first period break, when he and Alex are clearing their plates. Alex gives him a little smile when they’re alone in the kitchen, putting a hand on the back of Brendan’s neck, just a little gentler than friendly, and Brendan instantly relaxes. It’s the first time Alex has touched him at all since PK came, and he only now realizes how Alex touches him all the time, a hand on his back or shoulder, or appropriating Brendan as his personal pillow. Brendan’s so used to it now it feels weird that Alex suddenly stopped when they had company, or that PK’s in the center of the couch so they can’t even tangle feet like they normally do.

“You okay?” Alex asks. “You’re like... frowning.”

“I’m just thinking,” Brendan says.

“Well, don’t hurt yourself,” Alex says, toneless and almost mean, but he leans down for a quick kiss that takes all the sting out of it.

“Don’t be a dick,” Brendan says, following Alex back to the living room, and decides to think about the whole touching thing later, or maybe never. It’s probably not important.

\- - -

Alex’s mom goes away in November on a trip to Russia with his dad. Brendan has no idea why anyone would want to go to Russia in November, but he supposes it’s better than going at the actual holidays, where there are bigger crowds and it’s even colder. Normally Brendan wouldn’t notice she was gone at all, but he’s gotten kind of reliant on her cooking. Without her he and Alex are thrust abruptly into a world where they have to provide for themselves, and there’s only so long they can go on KD and eating out before it gets tiresome.

“We’re gonna cook,” Alex tells Brendan on a Saturday afternoon off. His hands are on his hips and he looks determined. Brendan groans.

“Dude, we had KD last night,” he says, and Alex shakes his head.

“No, we’re going to make an _actual_ dinner,” he says stubbornly. “Get up, we’re going food shopping.”

Brendan grudgingly lets Alex drag him around the local supermarket, grabbing whatever he’s ordered to while Alex frowns at his phone, thumbing through what he claims are easy recipes. He finally decides they can’t fuck up frozen peas, rice, and fish too much, but that’s only after an hour of walking in circles and staring at a million different cuts of meat and fish in the butcherie. For someone who has no idea what he’s doing, Alex is very exacting.

Alex says he doesn’t trust Brendan with the fish, which is fine. Brendan can handle microwaving a bowl of frozen peas for them and making rice, since it comes with really easy instructions to follow. Cooking is boring, but Alex is entertaining to tease, with how he fusses over the fish like it’s a delicate process, sprinkling the spice packet on with a furrowed brow and checking on it so many times it takes twice as long to cook as it should. It comes out a little dry, which makes Alex frown, but the peas and rice, Brendan feels the need to point out smugly, are perfect.

“I liked this,” Alex says quietly, after they’re done and Brendan’s doing the dishes, because he lost rocks-paper-scissors. “Not the fish, I mean, like, having dinner with you.”

Brendan turns to smile at Alex, who looks a little flushed in the dim light of the kitchen. It would be so easy to chirp Alex, but it was really nice, making dinner together and then actually sitting down and eating with each other, not silently stuffing their faces with takeout as they watch TV. “I liked it too,” he says. “But you’re doing the dishes next time.”

That makes Alex smile, a little shy, but there. “Deal,” he says.

\- - -

Brendan has no idea what the deal is with Alex and snow is, he just knows that it makes Alex lose his goddamn mind. He actually jumps into bed while Brendan is still sleeping and pounces on him like an excited puppy. “Brendan,” he says poking at Brendan’s side, “Bren. Gally. Hey, hey Brendan, wake up.”

“Hate you,” Brendan grumbles into his pillow. Alex’s fingers are icy-cold, and so is the tip of his nose when it drags against Brendan’s cheek.

“Practice is cancelled,” Alex says, still poking away. “Too much snow.”

“So let me _sleep_.”

“But I want to have a snowball fight,” Alex whines. “Anna’s in New York and you’re the only one, come on.”

Brendan squints one eye open. “You owe me breakfast,” he says, and then, “like, out,” because if Alex makes him breakfast it’ll just be cereal with maybe a banana on top, if he’s lucky.

“Yes!” Alex cries, bounding off to his room, presumably to bundle up.

“You owe me breakfast _forever_ ,” Brendan grumps to a silent room.

It is kind of pretty when they get outside, the city oddly silent as the snow swirls down. Brendan’s never really gotten what’s so great about snow, it’s just cold, inconvenient rain, and he’d think Alex would be sick of it by now, but a solid _thunk_ to the back of his neck followed by stinging cold and Alex’s laughter suggests that he’s really, really not.

“You _fuck_ ,” Brendan yelps, “you didn’t tell me we were starting yet!”

“Too slow!” Alex sing-songs, and his next one misses Brendan’s ear by an inch. “Come on, Anna at least fights back.”

“Oh for -” Brendan mutters, and then ducks before the next snowball can hit his face. He grabs a handful off the nearest car and waiting until Alex comes out from the car he was hiding behind, then hits him square on his forehead. It’s oddly satisfying.

Brendan loses track of how long he and Alex run around the street in circles, lobbing snow at each other and giggling like kids, but it is fun - more fun than he’d ever admit to Alex - the kind of breathless fun Alex doesn’t normally have. He’s usually more studied, more contained, and Brendan’s the one goading and teasing. But Brendan likes this Alex, even if Alex does grab him in a headlock and rub snow into his hair, making the frigid water drip past his ears as it melts.

“Fucking -” Brendan elbows Alex in the stomach, making him let out a laughing little “oof” and loosen his grip enough that Brendan can turn and pin him back against the hood of their downstairs neighbor’s car. He’s still pink from laughter, eyes bright and chest heaving under Brendan’s. The snow that’s still falling sticks to his eyelashes, and suddenly Brendan wants to lean down and kiss Alex’s chapped lips so badly it aches, but he can’t. They don’t do that, not outside the apartment. “You’re crazy,” he finally pants out, and Alex smiles a big, stupid smile that makes Brendan want to kiss him even more.

“You like it,” Alex says confidently, still breathless. He isn’t even trying to escape, he’s just holding on to Brendan’s coat to keep him close, watching Brendan’s mouth like he wants to kiss him, too. For a second, Brendan thinks he will.

“Yeah,” Brendan says. “Okay, yeah.”

\- - -

“I want a kitten for Christmas,” Brendan tells Alex on a lazy morning in bed after slow, lazy morning sex. Alex squints one eye open.

“We’re not getting a kitten,” he says.

“A little grumpy kitten,” Brendan sing-songs, turning to grin at Alex. Alex is like a big, contented cat when he’s sleepy, easy with his affection and smiles, and Brendan thinks, privately, that this is when he likes Alex best. “You two will be best friends.”

Alex’s hand runs up Brendan’s neck, ruffling his hair against the grain, like he’s picturing Brendan as a big cat, too. “I don’t need an annoying little kitten when I’ve got you,” he says, but his eyes are fond and sweet.

“I’m not your kitten,” Brendan protests.

“You’re my _something,_ ” Alex says.

Brendan wants to correct Alex, or ask him what he means, but Alex’s fingers are sure and easy at the back of Brendan’s neck, running through his hair just the way he likes. He’s relaxed, eyes easily affectionate, so sure that this thing between them is important, that it’s something. Brendan doesn’t know if he’s ready for that, or what he wants, but he knows he wants it to include Alex like this, with a sweet smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He wants to be part of this warm, safe space they’ve built together. They’re young and maybe he’ll outgrow this one day, but for now their crappy IKEA mattresses and mediocre takeout and Alex next to him is all he wants or needs.

“I can be your something,” he says.

“Good.” Alex’s says. “Me too.”


End file.
